A Far, Far Better Thing
by sesame.seed.bagels
Summary: All Eliza wanted to do was love Roderich- but not everyone wants it that way. Austria/Hungary, Prussia/Hungary, Lithuania/Belarus later. Human names used. Based off 'A Tale of Two Cities' by Charles Dickens.
1. 1: Deliriums

A Far, Far Better Thing

Chapter One: Deliriums

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness. Of course, for Alfred F. Jones, every age was that of foolishness. His older brother, Arthur, was constantly telling him that he had never truly grown up, and he would know, having had taken care of him since he was only a child. But Alfred took on a different perspective. He liked to think that heroism had no age limit, and with a new batch of trouble on the way, he was sure to need all the hero he could get his hands on.

On a dark and dismal Friday night, a carriage delivered Jones and a couple other suspicious figures from London to Dover. He was on the way to Dover for business, to meet with an anonymous woman whom had only revealed her location and that her business was urgent. Being the hero that he was, Alfred had immediately hopped onto a mail coach and set off to free the young lady of her burdens. However, as he sat in the interior of the carriage, he started to have second thoughts and soon became paranoid. Was that a handprint in the foggy coating on the window? Was that a gunshot, muffled by the thunder? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wishing that the treacherous ride would be over.

Abruptly, the coach rattled to a stop. "Thank heavens," the flustered American man muffled under his breath. His glasses were all fogged up. He stepped out of the carriage behind a tall man who was wearing so many layers that nothing of him was visible except for a pair of hideously gorgeous violet eyes. Nevertheless, he soon came to see that they had hardly arrived in Dover. In fact, they sat at the peak of a very large hill, accompanied by the familiar clattering of horses' hooves on the dirt stretch behind them.

"A message for Alfred F. Jones, sir!" a young-sounding voice cried, and a horse and rider emerged out of the distance. While the jockey bore striking resemblance to Alfred himself, and seemed very familiar, Alfred couldn't put a finger on just who he was. "A message- for-" The boy halted his horse in its tracks and stared down at Alfred. "You are Mr. Jones?"

Alfred coughed. "Yes… I'm sorry, have we met before?"

"I'm your brother," the man mumbled. "Matthew, remember?"

The American's jaw dropped. "I have a brother?"

Matthew sighed, murmuring something quietly to himself before replying to his clueless sibling. "Yes," he said. "But you're always forgetting who I am."

"Is that so?" Alfred said thoughtfully. "Anyways, you said you had a message for me?" Matthew nodded in a businesslike fashion, and protruded from his cloak a letter wrapped tightly in ribbons. After receiving a generous tip from the American businessman, the messenger thanked him and rode off, retreating just as quickly as he had come, and seeming to fade away into the mist.

The weary travelers piled back into the carriage, and Alfred settled down. Scrawled on the letter which his brother had kindly delivered were three words: "recalled to life". While Alfred knew exactly what this code meant, it was still hard to imagine what the message could be interpreted as. He drifted in and out of an intoxicated sleep, in which dreams came to him as from out of the foggy night. Suddenly, he was no longer in the carriage; instead, his spirit was found digging a grave in a roadside cemetery. He promptly removed the headstone from the resting place and dug until he found what he was looking for: a pair of bright eyes shining from a clawed hole in an exquisite coffin. "You wish to be recalled to life?" Alfred asked kindly to the eyes.

"Yes," the man answered humbly. His voice was low and gruff and rather old. His brown eyes blinked at Alfred, batting their lashed. A chill went down the digger's spine.

Alfred chuckled softly to himself. "I hope you care to live?" he asked, making polite conversation while busying himself with the task of hoisting the heavy coffin from the ground. Once freed, a tall man stepped haughtily out of his eternal bed and rubbed his hands together. His white mask shielded most of his face, but his soft brown eyes continued to flirt with Alfred's own, playfully showing and hiding themselves whenever they pleased.

At that, the dreaming American would reappear in the carriage to the concerned looks of all the other passengers.


	2. 2: Reasons

Chapter Two

Alfred Jones descended from the carriage into the bright Dover sun. His hair was a mess and his glasses were crooked; he squinted with the contrast in light from the dim carriage. His fellow riders made no attempt to bid farewell to him, and they scattered from the coach like they had never even known each other. Jones, sighing and exhausted, made his way up a grand staircase and towards the rather extravagant hotel in which he was meeting his anonymous new business partner.

The hotel lobby was cheerful and bright, but the residents of the room hardly reflected its mood. There was something about the men and women who lounged on a rosy pastel couch, puffing on cigarettes, and the small child that sucked on a lollipop alone one wall that screamed death and despair. Alfred Jones took a seat in a large, worn armchair by a blazing fire and watched a maid dust the mantle. In his hand, he clutched the note that Matthew had sent to him on the carriage: "recalled to life".

"What business have you here?" an old voice asked. Alfred turned to see a small Asian man sitting in the chair beside him, petting a ferocious-looking feline with bright, evil eyes. "You don't appear to be from Dover." 

Alfred chuckled. "Neither do you, sir," he countered. "And as it appears, I have no apparent reason for being here in Dover yet. I sure wish I could find one."

"Well," the man replied sadly, "I can't think of why you would come here looking for a reason. The people here don't have much reason for anything anymore."

"Why is that?" the American mused, looking around. A pale woman sitting across from them lit up another cigarette and took a long drag. Somewhere on the other side of the room, a baby began to cry helplessly.

Suddenly, he became aware that another person had joined the conversation. Both Alfred and his new friend looked up curiously to see a strikingly beautiful girl looking down at them. When she spoke, her voice was calm and laden with grief. "Mr. Alfred Jones?" she inquired, trying to keep her countenance businesslike.

Alfred stood up. "Ma'am?" he asked, looking the woman up and down. She was wearing clothing of the plainest nature, merely a green military uniform and hat. Her hair was long and light brown, clipped in place by a beautiful yellow flower that brought out her bright green eyes. She carried only a shiny copper frying pan, which she beat against her hand menacingly, to the point where Mr. Jones's Asian acquaintance stood up and quietly excused himself. The couple was then left alone in awkward silence.

"Eliza," she said softly, her face dropping and her voice trembling slightly. She held out a strong-looking hand to him. Alfred shook it cautiously. "I have been informed-" she glanced up at him for a moment- "that you have information about the property of my late father, Sadiq Adnan?" She seemed pained in speaking his name, and Alfred could imagine why. He had to remember the fragile state that Eliza was in while telling her his news, and mused over how to bring it about.

Jones bit his lip uncertainly. "Miss Eliza, you better sit down," he cautioned first. She let the gentleman assist in seating her on a sofa. The businessman then took a place next to her. "Your father, Mr. Adnan, he is deceased, correct?"

"That is correct, sir," Eliza muttered, looking down at her limp hands in her lap. "He has been dead for quite some time now, sir. What has this to do with my business here?"

Alfred took a deep inhale. "Your father, Eliza, has been-" he looked down at the message, still curled in the palm of his hand- "recalled to life, and if I can correctly identify him, it is possible that you might restore him to life, love, duty, rest, and comfort."

At that, Eliza grew quite faint and rested her head on the back of the couch. Alarmed, and knowing that his announcement couldn't have been said in a gentler manner, Alfred Jones took the ill woman up to her room to sleep.


End file.
